


Marigold Gloves

by Grufflump



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad fashion Connor, Domestic Bliss, Domestic God Connor, Drunk Hank, Fluff, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Growth, Hank just wants, M/M, Masturbation, Oblivious Hank, Pining, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Sumo t-shirts, Swearing, Ugly Jumpers, is that too much to ask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grufflump/pseuds/Grufflump
Summary: He stared around what looked similar to his apartment, but pristine. Everything was cleared away, pizza boxes and whisky bottles. Every surface was polished, every scattered book squeezed into the bookcase. He stopped by his record player, noting how his CDs were now alphabetised.“What the fuck.”A statement, not a question, and then Connor popped out of the kitchen like a fucking housewife. He was wearing marigold gloves, potentially just for the aesthetic.~~~Hank offers his place for Connor to stay whilst the world gets its shit together. Connor gives himself a new mission to turn the sinking ship of Hank's self-care around. And maybe get a piece of Hank whilst he's at it.





	1. Learning androids can sweat, if they want to

**Author's Note:**

> So uh I haven't written a fic in a long time, but I'm weak for domestic bliss and low self-esteem and bad fashion. I hope you like it and don't notice one of the inevitable typos I missed. 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr if you want to find me, posting memes and finding the unfunny hilarious  
> http://tumblr.com/grufflump

After the android revolution had succeeded, Hank knew there’d be an adjustment period. Major things that were far out of Hank’s control were up in the air: new laws, rights, housing, regulation of information accessed by androids, how to deal with past crimes committed. One of the major spearheads was a young android Alice, who was pursuing her father criminally for abuse. This highlighted a lot issues to be dealt with (was he ever her ‘father’, there was no law at the time, he didn’t know better) and the case would set a major precedent.

All of this may have been of more interest to Hank if his own world hadn’t so dramatically shifted. What had started out as a congratulatory hug – for surviving this bullshit together – had turned into something else. 

Initially, Connor had required somewhere to go and Hank wasn’t really prepared to trust any of the people opening their houses to androids. Who knew what sick fucks were still lurking around? Hank hadn’t lived with anyone in ten years and hadn’t had anyone staying in three years since his son had died. But Connor hadn’t really owned anything, so it wasn’t a big deal, really. It wasn’t the addition of things that impacted Hank, but the removal. 

It took a day for Connor to file the necessary paperwork to move into Hank’s little shack, and Hank got some food from Chicken Feed delivered to them, and cracked a bottle of Black Lamb. All for himself, but Connor seemed happy to watch. 

“Hank, I have some information you should know,” Connor began after a comfortable silence had lulled after food and a fair few drinks. 

Fuck, Hank’s brain was too swilled in alcohol to have such a serious conversation. He looked at Connor’s dial, leaning in to squint 

“Good,” Hank slumped back, crossing his ankle over his knee. Not because he didn’t want to cross his legs, but because his thighs had never allowed it. 

Connor paused at the response, but he went ahead, “The meal you’ve just eaten contains 2000 calories, four fifths of your necessary intake, mostly from fats and carbohydrates. The alcohol also is calorific, but it’s more a problem in terms of toxicity.” 

“…That shit had some vegetables. That green stuff,” Hank said, but it didn’t irritate him. Just warmed him up and made him laugh, “See?” he pointed in the abandoned container, “What is it?” 

Connor leaned over to see, touching it and then touching his tongue, “It’s a spring onion, lieutenant.” 

“First of all, call me Hank,” Hank held up one finger, “Second of all, I fucking told you it was a vegetable,” second finger went up, “Third of all, you’re a fucking nerd.” 

Connor looked shocked, and then his expression softened, “You need to be careful, Hank. Your body is fragile.” 

Hank stood up, “I’ll show you fragile.” 

He went to the music player, putting on a mix-CD he made when he was young and stupid, maybe to drive somewhere with his first girlfriend. It was his favourite CD when he was drunk, and the first notes just filled Hank with this stupid nostalgic energy. 

He moved over to Connor, dragging him up, “Since you’re deviant now, you gotta learn to dance.” 

“That’s not true,” Connor informed, and simply stood awkwardly as Hank roughly mumbled along with the gist of the words. 

Hank laughed loudly – louder than he had in years, maybe – as Connor jolted at Hank’s enthusiasm for the chorus. It felt so light – after all Hank’s personal bullshit, after the almost-genocide, after Connor going deviant. Hank had been worried, almost certain Connor was strong enough but always with a small worry that maybe his programming would win over his soul. 

But here the fucker was, awkward with that little circle twinkling away. 

“Dance, ya idiot,” Hank tugged at Connor’s shirt-sleeves. 

“I thought I was a nerd, lieutenant,” Connor did this cocky thing with his eyebrow that made Hank’s head swim. 

“You’re both,” Hank grunted, and then he started to move Connor’s limbs in a way that vaguely mimicked dancing. He tried to get the movements rhythmic, and Connor bopped his head a little, probably as he realised he couldn’t escape. They shuffled in a circle around the livingroom floor until the song faded out, and Hank let go of Connor’s wrists. 

Hank felt less steady, too drunk, and said, “I used to dance all the fucking time,” but his tongue felt heavy. 

It all became a blur for Hank after that. He vaguely remembered tripping – probably over Sumo - and Connor catching him before he brained himself on the coffee table.  
Bits and pieces started to come back as Hank clawed his way out of bed the morning after. He shuffled slowly to the bathroom, and had a vague memory of making Connor dance like a puppet, which in hindsight may have been tasteless. He ran the water for a shower, the rising steam clearing his mind as finally decided he wasn’t going to vomit. He brushed his teeth, washed the greasy feeling of the hang-over off him in the shower and returned to his bedroom. He was working on automatic, pulling a faded t-shirt that once had Madonna on it and some sweats, and he wobbled to the livingroom. Then Hank’s world jolted. 

He stared around what looked similar to his apartment, but pristine. Everything was cleared away, pizza boxes and whisky bottles. Every surface was polished, every scattered book squeezed into the bookcase. He stopped by his record player, noting how his CDs were now alphabetised. 

“What the fuck.” 

A statement, not a question, and then Connor popped out of the kitchen like a fucking housewife. He was wearing marigold gloves, potentially just for the aesthetic. 

“I thought you could do with a long rest. It’s 11am. It gave me a chance to work.” 

Hank moved to stand behind the couch, touching it. How had he gotten the dog hair off? It was layered on.

“I get you don’t have a mission anymore,” Hank felt a little bad when Connor visibly tensed, “But – kid – you don’t have to do this shit. Just relax. You don’t have to work for me. We’re friends.” 

“I want to help you,” Connor said, shrugging a little. 

“Well-“

“Since we’re friends,” Connor adjusted the gloves gently, glancing around the room and then back to Hank. 

Fuck. Hank couldn’t argue, especially not when Connor had just fixed his whole house. So he just pushed his hair back and nodded. 

“Help me get some strong coffee, then.” 

“I actually would suggest water to hydrate, and then coffee afterwards if you insist,” Connor returned to the kitchen, getting out a stolen pint-glass to fill with water, and then a mug. 

As Hank sat heavily at the table, brushing his thumb over one of the rings even Connor’s good intentions couldn’t remove. Connor put the glass down, moving back to battle with Hank’s cafetiere. 

Hank watched Connor’s back, the looseness in his shoulders something new. He sipped at some of the water and then noticed Sumo, who would normally be pestering him for food and a piss, but currently was content and asleep. 

“I fed and walked him. In that order. He didn’t seem very motivated to go that far.” 

Hank felt a weird pang of affection at Connor taking care of Sumo, his old boy. He grunted a soft ‘thanks’, tipping the water up and drinking with a bit more pep.

Connor put the coffee down, drawing Hank’s attention back. Then he hovered next to Hank and probably scanning his vital signs or something.

“Sit down, will you?” Hank shook his head, abandoning his water for the sweet black coffee, a preference Connor probably stored in his huge memory. He sighed gently, “Sweet nectar-“ 

“You want nectar?” 

“No,” Hank grunted, “I mean – this is tasty,” he felt his joke pretty ruined, but Connor seemed to smile so maybe it wasn’t a total loss, “So why the gloves?” 

“Many of the chemicals said they were corrosive to metals. I don’t have access to new downloads at the moment, so I couldn’t do exact research,” Connor flexed his hands, “I thought better than requiring replacements. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to work again to make money.” 

“You don’t really eat or drink, so you can just stay here for however long,” Hank shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I get that shit is up in the air.” 

Connor took a moment to recognise that it was a phrase Hank used, and then he moved the conversation forward, “I think I would like to keep staying with you. You could do with the help, too.” 

“Um – I’m nothing but an upstanding citizen.”

That one earned Hank a laugh.

~~~

Hank didn’t have much of a break from work. The essential staff of the city weren’t able to get much time off, and people were still shits, still stealing and murdering other people, so Hank went to work.

Only a few days into to living with his new roommate, Hank went into work to a mountain of paperwork. This was partly caused by the sudden lack of androids helping, and partly caused by the revolution itself. It was boring and tedious and he allowed his loose-cannon, borderline alcoholic reputation to carry him away from his desk at about 4 in the afternoon.

The bus was ride was weird, so banal but so muted. But Hank got off the bus and was feeling pretty good about getting home and telling Connor all the bullshit he had to deal with. Even show him the obviously forced peace-offering email from Perkins. 

But all those thoughts fizzled out when he got outside his house and saw Connor jogging up the pavement. He was wearing an outfit entirely composed of Hank’s clothes; a gag t-shirt that he got for secret Santa with Sumo’s face on it, and some gym shorts. But neither of those items ever looked like that on Hank. 

It took until Connor had stopped in front of him for Hank compose a coherent thought, “…why are you running?” 

“I wanted to find out if I enjoyed it,” Connor shrugged simply, not even breathless, “I haven’t – had the time or ability to work out what recreational activities I enjoy.” 

“No one enjoys running,” Hank turned away and walked up to the house, shaking his head, “You only do it to get away from shit you like less than running.” 

“I found it pleasant,” Connor followed after Hank, trailing him as always. “It was nice to look around the area, and it was rhythmic. I suppose it could be called soothing. Thoughts outside my protocol can get out of control sometimes.” 

“Yeah, that shit can get to you,” Hank agreed, pushing into the house and slumping in his spot on the couch where it sagged a bit from over-use. He hugged into Sumo and flexed his fingers into the thick coat. The dog responded by waging his huge tail, sniffing Hank’s hair and accepting the affection. 

Hank breathed out, feeling a bit more grounded. But his thoughts still gravitated back to Connor, “But you also don’t sweat, so maybe that’s why.” 

“Sweat makes running unenjoyable.” 

“It certainly doesn’t help.” 

Connor moved to stand in front of Hank in that ridiculous t-shirt without a hint of embarrassment, “I can alter my appearance, if you like. It may waste some Thirium.” 

Before Hank could even say no, Connor artificially imitated a strenuous work out, and fuck if Hank would ever forget it. Connor watched him, deadpan, as his cheeks reddened, producing some sweat voluntarily that made his t-shirt stick just over his chest in a deepening ‘v’, and brought attention to Connor’s perfectly crafted legs. They even looked muscular in those shorts. 

“Fucking nerd,” Hank’s voice wasn’t as strong as he’d have liked, but the fact he didn’t swallow his own tongue was honestly amazing. He turned to push his face into Sumo’s fur, trying to stifle his thirstiness. 

If he thought Russian roulette was dangerous, this was next level: Hank Anderson, 53, died lusting over his stray android. 

“Lieutenant, are you alright?” 

Hank just made a vague, muffled response. 

“I took the liberty of preparing a shopping list for the household. I kept to a budget, and will prepare a nutritious, low-cholesterol meal once we’ve purchased them. I have some recipes stored.” 

That made Hank sit up. He could handle this topic. He raised his eyebrows, “…it just sounded like you said you were going to feed me cardboard.”

Connor shook his head, smiling just a little, “That’s not what I said, lieutenant. It is important to look after yourself. I would also like to suggest running together-“ 

“I’m going to stop this bullshit right there,” Hank informed, “I ain’t made for running. I’m too old and bitter for this shit.” 

Connor’s LED whirled but he nodded to Hank, “It is your choice.” 

But Hank didn’t feel like Connor had agreed. His expression looked more like he was facing a challenge and was working out how to negotiate around it. But technically Connor had agreed so Hank had gotten his way.

“...I’m going to have a whisky,” Hank said, almost experimentally. 

“I put the bottle in the far right cupboard.” 

Hank nodded, rising from the couch to the open-plan kitchen and changing the subject, “Fuck, I’ll show you this email on my phone.” 

“From who?” 

“Perkins.” 

Hank turned in his pursuit of a drink, catching Connor’s expression of distaste.

“I fucking know, right?” 

~~~

Hank almost doesn’t notice at first. He started getting home from work, and Connor told him he thought Sumo needed a secondary walk. It wasn’t even that bad. Just Connor and two reluctant old dogs going up the pavement. There was a park nearby that was their usual target. There was a decorative fountain that Sumo could flop into, and a bench Hank could have a cigarette at. 

Sometimes androids came up to fangirl at Connor, asking him about Markus and if he was still single, flirting with Connor too. For his part, Connor gave polite, perfunctory replies since he mostly wanted to leave the ‘leading of a new nation’ to Markus, and gently implied that Markus was very devoted to his advisor, Simon. Humans also approached Connor, although fewer, but often just as awe-struck. Connor was pretty famous, even for his comparatively minor role. Though, the view people had of him would surely dip if they knew the weird crap he put in his mouth. 

So it started with walking but then kept growing. When they shopped in the store, Hank noticed a few of the items Hank put in the cart didn’t make it back home. Then a few extra clothing items Hank thought were for Connor found their way into Hank’s closet. 

Exercise clothes. 

But it took a week before it was brought up directly. It was in the midst of a hangover that was milder than Hank had expected. He’d gone to the bar after work to get nice and smashed, and received some messages from Connor about dinner waiting. Tipsy and warm and fuzzy, Hank had downed his whisky and called an auto-taxi to take him home. It was all fucking sappy, and Connor suggested that they watch a movie on the couch. Hank was too old to refuse, and as soon as Connor started fiddling with his hair, Hank passed out into a deep sleep. He woke up in bed, so Connor must’ve carried him, a weird thought he filed away for another day.

Hank stayed in bed for a little while, not asleep but just lazily spaced out. Connor appeared wearing another terrible outfit he picked out for himself and put some water, aspirin and coffee on the bedside table. Hank mumbled a ‘thanks’, sat up and took a sip of the water to get rid of the morning tang on his tongue. He watched Connor pick out some clothes for him too, an act that was too domestic to really be normal but Hank didn’t have it in him to stop it.

“So-“ Hank began a sentence, and then looked at the choice of clothes. Joggers and a sweatshirt. Connor dropped a pair of trainers next to it. Hank didn’t know he owned them.

“Sumo doesn’t want to head out without you.”

The standard excuse to get Hank to go out but…coupled with this coincidental workout clothing choice.

“Uh huh.” 

“And I thought it’d be better for all of us if we maybe tried jogging,” Connor tried to sound light and casual, but his LED frantically whirled yellow.

“…jogging, Connor?” Hank groaned, picking up the aspirin carefully and popping it on his tongue, prepared to swill it down. 

“I’ll sweat for you.” 

Hank choked on the tiny, innocuous pill, looking at Connor who was just staring back at him. He drank down some more water, stifling his cough. 

“Would you like that, Hank?” 

“Fucking hell,” Hank mumbled, voice a bit hoarse, but his reaction spoke for itself. Obviously he would.

Connor smiled at Hank, but the innocent expression felt phony to Hank. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hank moved his legs out of the bed, holding the duvet over him still, “Fine. I’ll dress. Get out.” 

“You want me out? Are you certain?”

“Yes, Connor. Fuck off. I’ll even put on the trainers,” Hank bargained, watching Connor laugh and leave before he released his death-grip on the duvet, looking down at the tent in his flimsy pyjamas. It threw him every time Connor talked like that out of nowhere. Like he was interested in Hank.

He knew that Connor didn’t have x-ray vision or anything, but he moved over to make sure the door was shut. Then he undressed, dropping his clothes near what used to be a wicker basket and was now mostly just a sharp obstacle Hank only beat 50% of the time. 

His mind raced and his chest fluttered as he sat on the bed. He didn’t have a high sex-drive, was never plagued by ‘morning wood’. He only had a problem when he liked someone, and he hadn’t liked anyone enough to bring it out of him in a while. But shit, he liked Connor. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he masturbated, couldn’t remember when he even took the little bit of time to treat himself rather than punish. But Connor had made his home soft rather than grimy, and for all he mentally mocked Connor for being a housewife, he was actually domesticating Hank. Caring for him. The bizarre end result of this was a boner and a debate for how long it would take to jerk off. 

Hank found himself gripping around his dick without consciously deciding he had time, fisting himself in small quick movements. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and almost immediately knew it wasn’t going to take long. He glanced at the door, hoping Connor was busying himself. 

And then Connor flashed up in his mind. Even though his fake-sweat was mocking and kind of weird, it was so fucking beautiful. Hank thought about digging his fingers into Connor’s thighs – would they be firm? Soft? He liked the idea of Connor being soft. Soft and strong. There was this slightly metallic tang to Connor’s smell, even though it was starting to get covered by Hank’s shower products. That thought alone made Hank lean his head back, eyes shut as he worked his precum down his dick, already so fucking close. 

He was a bit out of practise and his forearm ached a little. His other hand gripped the side of the mattress, his feet moving apart. His mouth fell open and he made small sounds with each puff of breath. His face started to blush with the images that came to his mind: Connor in a barely buttoned shirt and nothing else, Connor looking at him like this and enjoying it, Connor working Hank with his skilled hands. Connor, Connor, Connor. 

He breathed the name from his lips as he came, just managing to bring his other hand up in time to contain around the mess. He panted at the ceiling before he managed to pull himself back. He shivered a little, carefully releasing his dick and then making the awkward waddle-walk over to his dirty clothes to wipe, first his hands and then his crotch, free of cum.  
He pulled on the outfit Connor chose, adjusting the sweatshirt around his gut a little and trying to make sure his satisfaction wasn’t too obvious. When he felt like his reflection looked in the realm of normal, he walked out into the livingroom. He pushed his hair back, “This is ridiculous.” 

“What is?” Connor gestured for Hank to sit down at the kitchen table, a water bottle already filled and positioned in the middle. 

“Going for a run,” Hank glanced at Sumo, who was another innocent victim in this, and he sat down, “Let’s just get it over with. What’s with the – ceremony…” 

The last word left Hank’s lips as a mumble. He stared ahead as he felt Connor pull a brush through his tangled hair. Connor was gentle, holding the base of Hank’s hair when there were knots, and working through the grey mess steadily. Hank was so surprised by the tenderness he just sank into it without enough time to overthink it, really. He was so unusually relaxed he didn’t notice until Connor stopped that he’d tied up what he could. 

Hank reached back to touch the stub of his ponytail, twisting to look at Connor with raised eyebrows, “Really?” 

“It will help with your thermo-regulation, allowing you to sweat more freely,” Connor said the line which immediately struck Hank as pre-planned. He saw the LED whirl yellow at Connor’s temple and watched the other’s brown eyes flick away. 

“How long have you been thinking about doing this?” 

“Lieutenant, I-” Connor said admonishingly. 

Hank shook his head, his hair not long enough to pull back totally from his face, and he watched Connor’s eyes track the movement of his hair, “Hank.” 

“…Hank,” Connor sighed, “I am simply trying to improve your comfort.” 

Hank snorted at the dumb excuse but he moved to the door, getting Sumo’s lead from the recently installed hook, “Let’s do this shit.” 

Maybe Connor was hot for him too, even if he was an old, salty man with a beard and a gut. The idea made Hank smirk a little.


	2. Learning that getting drunk alone isn't as fun as it used to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me about your day.”
> 
> Hank paused, wanting to talk about all the things he never did before. His tongue felt free, like he could just spill secrets, consequences be damned. But this soft request pulled him from the frantic state of pouring his heart out to something more tranquil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I continued it! Gotta give Hank a present on his birthdayyyy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to Amber-Spirit for the proof reading and replying primarily in Kermit memes.
> 
> My contribution to the fandom on this fine day. Enjoy the sickly sweet fluff
> 
> Still on Tumblr. Still not funny.  
> http://tumblr.com/grufflump

Hank took to jogging about as well as he thought he would, which was catastrophically. 

Connor rambled as they walked about warming up, picking up the pace a bit towards the park. They stopped at what Hank considered his bench, and that was when Connor pulled out the big guns. 

Stretching. 

Hank watched Connor with a dull expression, even though it was amusing, as he swung his arms around to ‘loosen his shoulders’. 

“Do the same, Hank.” 

“My arms?” 

“Hank,” Connor insisted, but his eyes were doing that soft thing that Hank couldn’t get pissed at.

Hank rolled his eyes and swung his arms in a circle, feeling Sumo watching them with the confusion that they were really due. 

“Now lean over to stretch your side,” Connor demonstrated with the flexibility of something that is not limited by age, a fairly static life-style, or alcohol consumption. 

Hank was glad the flapping was done, so he bent as far to the side as he could, “Right.” 

“Other side.” 

“Mhm.” 

“You agreed to do this,” Connor reminded. 

“I am doing it,” Hank gestured to himself, clearly fucking doing it, “But how about we just – get to the essential shit.” 

Connor paused and then nodded, “Fine, put your leg on the bench and lean in to stretch your hip and groin.” 

Again, Connor demonstrated, and Hank’s eyes instantly went to the android’s legs and perfectly crafted butt. 

But Hank was drawn from his daze as he put his foot on the bench, “…you’ve watched a video on this.” 

“I want to assist you to the best of my capacity.” 

Hank smirked, but his dusty heart flip-flopped. Shit. Connor was cute. 

Hank stretched his ‘hip and groin’ with each foot on the bench, did some kind of move that just kind of hurt his calves, and then he was told to fold in half and dangle. 

“Do you feel it in your hamstrings?” 

“I don’t know. What does that feel like?” Hank snorted. 

“I don’t know. I don’t have any,” Connor said in a dry tone, and Hank’s hanging jostled with laughter. 

“I guess I feel it kinda,” Hank answered after a moment. Then he felt a hand press his back a little, easing Hank lower down. 

“Now?” Connor asked, closer than Hank remembered him being, and his voice was soft so he was leaning in, “Your heart-rate has increased, Hank. Are you alright?” 

“Little shit,” Hank leaned up, pushing his half-tied hair back and frowning a little at Connor, who looked pretty smug, “If you do it on purpose, it’s not cute.” 

Connor smiled, and Hank realised his mistake. 

“I’m cute accidentally, lieutenant?” 

“We’re here to run,” Hank answered instead, feeling stupid and flustered at this smug android. 

“I agree,” Connor took Sumo’s lead from the ground – the dog hadn’t even tried to escape - and he started walking a little quickly, “We’ll warm up to the ice-cream van and then run back.” 

Hank had to do a stupid little jog to catch up, then he tried to walk with the efficiency Connor did, but he already felt a little sweaty. They walked in silence, fairly comfortable before Hank felt an itch to talk, to muffle his inner dialogue, “It’s humid today.” 

“It’s average,” Connor looked at Hank, “But your body-temperature is elevated,” his expression went a little blank as he analysed something and stopped walking, “You’re warmed up sufficiently. Let’s try jogging.” 

Hank’s mouth hung open as he watched Connor run off, the dog being tugged before he stumbled into a jog next to Connor. He followed suit after the dog, lumbering next to the pair, “If anyone records this-“ 

“I automatically record my surroundings,” Connor pointed out, his eyes fixed on Hank

“If Gavin tries to roast me about this, I’ll know it’s your fault,” Hank concluded, glancing at Connor from the side of his eyes and giving him a bit of a smirk; an expression he hadn’t used in earnest flirting for a while. It seemed to have the desired impact when Connor stumbled, “An error in programming there, Connie?” 

Connor stopped running at that, staring with wide eyes.

Hank stopped too, breathing heavier than he’d care to admit. He tried to cover it, but speaking kind of rumbled him as his voice croaked a bit, “I was just kidding, bud.”  
Is making fun of programming errors really vicious for androids? 

“…Connie?” the android spoke, and his lips pulled into a smile, “You have a nickname for me.” 

“You’re making it fucking weird,” Hank grunted, shaking his head and taking the water-bottle when Connor offered it, “I was teasing you. Connie’s a stupid name.” 

“I see,” Connor nodded in a way that didn’t hide at all how much he liked it. 

Hank started to jog again if only to escape Connor. 

The whole ordeal was exhausting, and Hank only lasted running on and off for just under an hour. He tried to enjoy the walk back to his shitty little house, knowing he’d be aching tomorrow. Sumo seemed pretty okay, but he guessed he had a harder time avoiding exercise with Connor. He was getting morning and evening walks, something Hank avoided in the shower or by pretending to be asleep.

Just before Hank went into the shower, he heard Connor mumbling ‘Connie’ under his breath. 

Hank was getting weak. 

~~~

Hank drummed his fingers on the desk, looking vacantly at his empty coffee cup. He had felt about as terrible as he thought he would after the run. He had almost coughed up an entire lung. And yet it was only a few more days before Connor tricked him again. The stretching always heated something up in Hank, and maybe it softened the thought of aching muscles and spasming lungs. Connor must’ve known as he started to focus on the ones that distracted Hank the most.

But Hank had never shied away from a challenge. It was how he became the youngest lieutenant, how he solved some of the grimiest, filthiest cases in the precinct. He soon worked out a counter-attack; he knew Connor watched him closely on a few of the stretches too, but Connor’s favourite thing was Hank rubbing his face free of sweat with the bottom of his t-shirt. Hank didn’t know if it was the shirt, the sweat, or the combination, but it inevitably stuttered the smooth android.

It was warfare. 

And it brought a stupid smile to Hank’s face in the middle of the office. He caught himself and sat up, leaning on his elbows to stare more closely at the computer screen and refocus on his work. It only took a few moments before his mind began sparking. He made connections in the huge holes of the current case and as much as he hated admitting he needed help, Connor was bringing him back. He was starting to feel like he used to at work, burning brighter.

He turned his body in his comfortable, worn desk-chair, continuing to read a witness report as he reached for his mug. A movement caught his eye, and he groaned loud enough for Gavin to hear as he came over. 

“What?” Hank asked before Gavin could speak. 

“I know it was fucking you.” 

It was indeed Hank, but the older detective just slowly sipped his coffee like it was still warm and palatable. He took his time to answer, “What was, Reed?” 

“I’ve been signed up to become an android fucker,” Gavin leaned his hips on the desk, putting his hands in the pockets of his pretentious leather jacket. 

“…by who? Did you get on a dating site?” Hank asked, raising his eyebrows, “Fucking plot twist, Reed.” 

“I’m signed up for the compulsory six month Understanding Android course,” Gavin said tightly, “I was recommended by a higher-up. If I don’t attend, my employment will be terminated. For a bright new world-“ 

“Oh. Maybe that’ll be good. Androids are coming back to the force soon. Maybe it’ll make it easier for you,” Hank suggested with a smile so fake he thought he saw Gavin grind his teeth. 

“I don’t need it. I don’t need to be told how fucking cute all those plastic pricks are,” Gavin informed, leaning over the desk, “I don’t need to become an android fucker like you, Anderson.” 

Hank stood up, looking down at Gavin, “Enjoy the course, Gav. I hear you get assigned an android that reports your progress, and I think I know the one they’ll assign you. Work hard, detective.” 

“What am I getting?” Gavin frowned, but he leaned back as Hank stood up. Hank may be older, but he was taller and had 30 pounds on the detective. It helped with guys like Gavin. Hank actually saw the nervousness of the guy through the bullshit. Too many people were scared of being taken over by androids, probably since they knew how shit humanity was. But he never really understood their attitudes; that if they just oppressed the androids harder this would never have happened. 

“You’re getting RK900,” Hank shrugged, sitting down with a small groan from his chair. He rolled his seat close to the computer again, sipping his coffee again.  
Gavin stared at Hank and then he grabbed the mug and smashed it on the ground. 

Everyone in the office turned to look, and Hank was glad for the embarrassment on Gavin’s face. Hank was numb to it. He’d bottomed out on shame a while back. This wasn’t anywhere close to his top ten embarrassing moments. 

“You’re a fucking hack,” Gavin tried to give his display a decent conclusion, stalking off, “You’re over the hill and everyone knows it. Stop dragging me down with you.” 

Hank waited until Gavin left and rose again with an ache from his quads. He got half-way through cleaning it before the janitor arrived and took over. Hank went back to work, making a few extra notes before he noticed people filtering out. 

He was packing up, ready to go home, when his phone pinged with a message from Connor. It explained he had to go be an ambassador with Markus for conference big-deal. He’d fed Sumo and set up some food for Hank too, but he had to go. Hank felt this emptiness immediately pile up inside him. Thoughts came back to him that he hadn’t noticed leaving. About getting messy drunk, about his son’s mother, about his son, about his revolver.

He ended up in the bar, staring down at a few different scotches. No one seemed surprised for his return, and no one spoke to him about it. But the drunken buzz that usually numbed him didn’t work. It made him want to talk about Connor to anyone who’d listen, like a schoolboy with a crush. 

Instead, he left the bar before he felt nauseous with alcohol and phoned Connor as he walked home. It was slightly unnerving when Connor answered. His voice was perfectly clear, and for some reason Hank said the first thing that came to mind. 

“…you don’t have a phone.” 

“I don’t need one, Hank.” 

Hank sighed at Connor’s tone. Like he was smiling, “Fucking nerd.” 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Yeah. I had some spare time tonight.” 

“I know.” An awkward pause that Hank didn’t have the brain-capacity to fill. “I didn’t want to leave.” 

“It’s fucking weird,” Hank agreed, “I – you know what I mean. It felt weird going back to an empty house.” 

“Sumo’s there,” Connor said, and Hank laughed loudly. 

“When are you back, dipshit?” Hank mumbled, and then added, “Cute little dipshit.” 

“Good save. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. For your birthday.” 

Hank stopped walking, staring ahead. Fuck. It was. And Connor knew it; he’d said it like he had some plans for it. Hank couldn’t remember the last time he’d celebrated his birthday. 

“Okay. I guess I can last one night.” 

“Tell me about your day.” 

Hank paused, wanting to talk about all the things he never did before. His tongue felt free, like he could just spill secrets, consequences be damned. But this soft request pulled him from the frantic state of pouring his heart out to something more tranquil. 

“Well, I found out at work they’re doing an android empathy programme-“

Hank just kept rambling, with Connor contributing little comments every so often. It felt like no time at all until he was at his house. He paused talking to fumble with the key, managing to turn the lock.

“I need you to do me a favour,” Connor’s voice cut through his focus. 

“Anything.” 

Hank immediately blushed and even though Connor couldn’t see him, he felt caught out.

“I need you to drink a couple of glasses of water…And then shower and go to bed. I promise I won’t nag you, okay? For a while,” Connor laughed, and Hank knew he was fucked.  
He just wanted to pass out and wake up with his new normal life and not have to deal with this separation bullshit. He didn’t want to feel lonely again. 

“Connor, you’re like an old woman,” Hank shook his head, pushing inside past Sumo walking into him aggressively, demanding pats and attention. He provided them, mumbling softly to his boy. He waited the minute or so until Sumo settled, and then Hank continued to the kitchen with the phone pressed to his ear, tucked under his grey hair. He only realised how long he’d left Connor waiting when the voice on the phone spoke up again. 

“I apologise. I didn’t want to step over a line.” 

Hank didn’t reply, and instead just kept the phone to his head as he downed a glass of water. 

“Are you- oh…” The softness in Connor’s voice, the relief, was like a punch to the gut.

He walked to the bathroom, refilling the glass and putting it by the sink to finish it after, “I’m going to shower. Just go to bed, or read, or whatever,” he shook his head to himself as he looked at his reflection. 

He did probably needed a shower.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” 

Hank watched his face almost objectively as he smiled at Connor’s voice. He looked exactly how he thought he would. Like a fucking sap. 

“You too. See you tomorrow, Connor.” 

Hank hung up before it became a ‘thing’. He put his phone down next to his water and undressed, dumping his dirty clothes in the hamper. He went on autopilot, but the new version of himself Connor had begun instilling. He washed himself, drank the water, brushed his teeth, put on boxers and got into bed. At 10.30pm on a Friday night. 

~~~

Hank woke up on his birthday, waiting for the headache to come from too much scotch but…it didn’t really. There was just a faint echo of a hangover. He’d stopped drinking before he was wasted, and he’d done as Connor asked. He actually felt pretty good. 

As he sat up in the bed, there was a knock on the door. Connor must’ve been waiting for movement. Something he should probably consider more later considering the shit he does in his bedroom alone. ‘Alone’.

“Come in, Connor,” he mumbled, his voice still a bit dry. 

He was still just in his underwear, but Connor had seen him in some real states when they first met, so Hank’s bar for shame was pretty low with the android. 

Connor came in, and part of Hank expected some kind of fruit-based breakfast with oats like Connor normally considered a ‘treat’ to him. But instead he had a bag from Chicken Feed, and Hank felt a rush of heat to his face. Not in front of the android, Anderson. Fuck. 

“Um…thanks,” Hank mumbled, and then he saw Connor was also carrying a package wrapped in stripy blue paper.

A birthday _present_. 

“Connor, you don’t have to do this. I didn’t – when is your birthday?” Hank shifted over in the bed a bit, letting the covers pool around his hips as he takes the bag of food first. He checked inside it – his favourite cheeseburger – and then looked as Connor hovered by the bed. 

“I don’t really have a birthday. My model was created July 1st, and I was activated August 13th,” Connor put the parcel down on Hank’s lap, “Happy birthday. I believe it’s customary to have cake, but I thought you’d prefer some grease-“ Hank grinned at Connor’s expression here, “-and I got you a gift. I thought you’d hate singing so I was going to skip it.” 

“I would hate it,” Hank confirmed, and realised as he unwrapped the perfectly wrapped present on his lap how much thought Connor had put into this. What kind of gift would so much intense consideration produce? It felt like clothing, but heavy. A jacket?

Hank stared when he finally saw what Connor had gifted him. It was a knitted sweater, a visually uncomfortable combination of pale yellow on the body and pale green for the collar and cuffs. But no one would notice that because of the huge pixelated-looking image of Sumo’s face knitted into the pattern. Hank unfolded it to look over it better, checking inside briefly. No tag. 

“I had access to basic information and the materials were easily found. You don’t have many things you care about outside of Chicken Feed and working and – Sumo. Markus suggested something personal. He used to paint for Carl but I…wanted to do something from me. And you like Sumo, and when I dress you so-“ 

“Thanks,” Hank interrupted before the rambling got painful, for both of them, “It’s…perfect.” 

And bizarrely, Hank meant it. It was the kind of shitty hand-made gift that people wore when someone cared about them. Like using customised mug in a busy office, or a shitty picture your kid did that is framed on the wall. It screamed delusional and loved. 

He grunted his way out of bed, pulling the jumper on and tugging it down. He looked up, catching Connor staring at him. 

“I’m cute as shit, right?” Hank held his arms out and found himself relaxing when Connor finally smiled. 

“I know you favour those colours,” Connor said with some confidence. 

Hank watched Connor continue talking, getting a little more animated, and Hank honestly didn’t mean to. He was just going soft in his old age, and he was practically melted butter with this fucking ugly jumper. 

He reached to touch the other’s shoulder, squeezing just next to his neck as he leant in to kiss him gently. He thought for a moment that they were both holding their breaths, but he realised Connor didn’t breathe. He felt out of his depth as he pressed a little firmer and then pulled back. The bubble of anxiety – about maybe misreading signs, why would Connor want _him_ \- popped as Connor chased the kiss, fumbling in his rush to Hank press their lips together again. 

Hank laughed softly, steadying Connor and standing him back, “Hey hey.” 

Connor blinked slowly, his LED a solid bright blue. To the outside world, he looked composed. To Hank, he was buzzing with excitement. It was quite an achievement to ruffle the negotiator.

“It’s – just thank you, alright? Let’s have breakfast,” Hank reached back to get the brown bag off his bed, heading to the kitchen.

Keep it together, Hank. It was just a kiss.

“Hank, shouldn’t you dress first?” 

Fuck.


End file.
